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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23173039">Lars Ulrich's Diary</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinusHuman/pseuds/MinusHuman'>MinusHuman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Metallica</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Diary/Journal, Gen, Heavy Angst, M/M, Sneaking Around</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:29:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,555</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23173039</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinusHuman/pseuds/MinusHuman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lars Ulrich moved to the U.S., his mom hand-bound and gave him several journals to use to document his experiences in their new country. After the whole decade set had been finished, Lars tied them up and put them away to never be seen again....</p>
<p>...Until James found them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James Hetfield/Lars Ulrich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Introduction to my Journal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Go get one of my sweatshirts, James, I'm cold. They should be in a box beside my bed." Lars called to James, plopping onto the couch next to Kirk. When he did, he caught Jason's knee and forced it back, making him yelp and grab his hip.</p><p>"Do you want your drinks first or do I have to fuckin' remix them when I get back? Because I'm just barely starting to make Kirk's and I still have to make yours." James grumbled back, violently shaking the martini mixer above his head.</p><p>Kirk laughed at how much James moved when he mixed the drink, and Lars spoke up over it. "Okay, fair point. But after you make mine you have to get my sweatshirt." He said, having to almost yell over his laughing friend just to be heard clearly.</p><p>When the drink mixing was over and everyone was drunk with liquor and content with themselves, James left to get Lars his sweatshirt. As he walked into the room, he was met with the mind-numbing, unmistakeable smell of Danish whiskey and old leather.</p><p>The room, covered with the blanketed warmness of the colors of the Danish flag and the light of the lamp that was on, made James feel cozy, as if he were back in the 80s when he and Lars lived together in the small house in San Francisco, next to the burger king Lars constantly went to for food with James' borrowed money.</p><p>He spotted the box almost immediately. A brown cardboard box that came up to James' knees, with black lettering on the front that read "My Personal Shit" in bold sharpie.</p><p>James began digging through the box and found the sweatshirts, but then felt something hard underneath it. He pulled the sweatshirts off and saw a small stack of thick books, nine of them, with the remains of a silver sharpie on the black leather cover on the top. They were held together by twine and right below the bow it was tied into was a framed picture of him and Lars, Lars sitting on his lap with a red solo cup and himself holding a beer with a large smile on his face. It looked like the picture was taken in 1985, because in the background, he saw Kirk and Corinne talking while Cliff was intruding into the background of the picture.</p><p>James couldn't help but stifle a small laugh, and he set the picture on the nightstand under the lamp. Because of the new lighting, James could see the redness in Lars' cheeks and a smile on his face, showing his happiness. The happiness was contagious and made a small smile grow on James' face.</p><p>He picked up the stack and fully untied the twine, then picked up the earliest book in the stack and read the cover, large words written in delicate cursive letters. "LARS' JOURNAL (YEAR: 1980)"</p><p>James inspected the cover closely, then opened the front cover. On the paper inside, in the top left corner, was something that looked like that of a header for a high school essay.</p><p>"Lars Ulrich's Journal (years 1980-1981)"</p><p>James couldn't help but dive further into the book. On the opposite side of the book cover where the header was, there was a small drawing of a boy at a drumset, looking as if he were banging his energy away on each drum.</p><p>"Introduction Into My Journal (April 23, 1980, 19:10)<br/>
My mor gave me this journal a few minutes ago, and she wrote my name and the year on the cover. She made it herself because we don't have the ability to buy things here in America just yet. Something about far not wanting to buy anything here until he has an official American bank account set up. I don't know. Mor says she has a few more journals, one for each year. She said that this one's only for 1980, and there should be enough pages in here for writing. If I make it to the 31st and there's still room in here, I was told those can be used as pages to practice my sketching. I'm really excited about this journal now! Mor is calling me down to the main room now, so I guess I have to stop writing and answer her calls. This journal will be amazing!"</p><p>Under the block of text, there was a small drawing that showed a bust of Lars. He had no clue Lars could even write steadily, let alone draw, and he was amazed. When he heard Lars call for him from the living room, he tied the bundle back up and brought it into his own room so he could read them later. He grabbed a gray sweatshirt off of the bed, shoved the rest of them into the box, then slid the box into its original place in front of the bed.</p><p>He knew he was going to have fun with the journals that night. He could feel it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. 1980: A New Start</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Once the others were sufficiently drunk, James finally retreated to his room to read the journals and to learn the things his best friend hadn't told him before they became close.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>CW: gently censored content</p><p>This one and the next chapter has had/have to be reworked a little cus I was a terrible writer when I was baby 🙄</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>James rushed to get back into his room so he could begin reading immediately. He kept himself focused on keeping sobriety for that night because he was so desperate to read these entries that he forgot to drink.</p><p>After he had brought a stumbling Lars to his room and the staggering and tottering Jason and Kirk to their suite down the hall, James returned to his room and untied the stack of journals. He picked the 1980 edition up once more, turned on his lamp and a tape player, then went through the journal listening to Black Sabbath.</p><p>Before opening the journal, with advice from Kirk, he pulled open the drawer in his bedside table and brought out three things: a dirty blue ash tray, a Zippo lighter, and a loaned ACID brand cigar.</p><p>When he lit the cigar and inhaled, he couldn't help but hack at the harshness of the smoke. He shook his head and put it out immediately in the ash tray, then put both back into the drawer. He regained his composure and finally opened the journal's cover.</p><p>On the page directly after Lars' journal introduction, there was a very realistic sketch of his mother Lone, and right afterward, his father Torben. Afterward, there were a few more sketches of random things and random people. Over one of his sketches, a colored sketch of a road with someone walking down the sidewalk, there was a small note.</p><p>
  <b>
    <i>Note: I'm really happy that my mother decided to use watercolor paper for the pages in these journals. Now I know I can draw things like this. My neighbor walking down the sidewalk. He looked up at me and looked really confused when I took a picture of him to study for this drawing. I don't blame him.</i>
  </b>
</p><p>James chuckled lowly to himself, then turned the page and saw the original polaroid on the very back of the watercolor sketch. The neighbor, a tall blond man who looked of high status with his hands in his pockets, looked up to where Lars was, presumably his bedroom. His dark brown eyes, though hard to see and barely a speck in the photo, looked worn with contempt in the world. He looked depressed.</p><p>Under that polaroid, there was another note that was written in Lars' small, neat writing. It looked a lot like his mother's, just in print, and a few phrases were scratched out.</p><p>
  <b>
    <i>Another note: Sadly, I found out that my neighbor…..……….the night I took this picture. Nobody knew until a few days later when my mother had to report the…………...to the cops. Turns out……………and just……there for around four days. That's pretty morbid....But also pretty cool.</i>
  </b>
</p><p>James, puzzled, looked to the next page and saw a mass of graphite overtaking the whole page. A note from 1989 was left under it in its wake. </p><p>
  <b>
    <i>Bad taste, bad taste, I'm a terrible person. Imagine the shit I'd get if I actually followed through with publishing these?</i>
  </b>
</p><p>A bit further down the page was another:</p><p>
  <b>
    <i>'Pretty cool'??????? What the fuck is wrong with me????????</i>
  </b>
</p><p>With those notes to go on, James could only imagine what Lars drew or wrote under that graphite to make even himself remove it in bad taste. But he only sighed deeply and turned to the next page.</p><p>
  <i>Entry 1 (May 4, 1980, 15:34)<br/>
Far told me I'm supposed to start my first full high school day tomorrow. I already tried, but my nervousness got the best of me and I threw up in the bathroom. And I can't speak that good of English aloud, so I have no idea how I'm going to be able to get through tomorrow. My anxiety shouldn't be as high as it is for a 16-year-old, and I'm so scared that something might happen. I mean, what are the chances of something actually bad happening? Then again, I've seen people get beat for less. Oh my fucking god, why won't my thoughts stop racing? I can barely think, I want it to stop</i>
</p><p>James could feel the fear in the writing and he felt a feeling of despair in his chest, slowly growing bigger and bigger. He heard knocking at his door and he quickly threw the stack of books under his bed, while also stuffing the 1980 journal under his pillow. "Come in." He said in a weary voice, breathing heavier than normal because of all the sudden movement he just had to do.</p><p>"Do you have any Ibuprofen? I just woke up and I have a bad headache..." Lars whined as he walked in, holding his head in desperate pain. James opened the drawer next to his bed and quickly pulled out his bottle of Advil, then threw it to the small drummer that stood before him.</p><p>"Go to bed, Lars. If you have a bad headache, you're gonna wanna sleep." James sighed softly, getting up to lead Lars out. Lars held onto him for a second to regain balance, then kept his hand clutching onto his sleeve until he was safe in his bed again.</p><p>After that, James returned to his own bed and locked the door this time, pulling the other eight books out from under his bed and the 1980 edition out from under his pillow. He flipped to the page he was just on and turned the page to be met with another polaroid picture. It was of him from May in 1980.</p><p>He was in his old factory uniform, and his hair was tied back. It looked like he was in a small local burger joint and he was taking his wallet out of his back pocket. He read a note under the polaroid and smiled when he did.</p><p>
  <b>
    <i>Note: I saw this guy while I was waiting to get something to eat at a place called Blondies. He had the rocker look going on for him, and he had these really blue eyes. Even in Denmark, I've never seen eyes quite like his. They were so light but they were so vibrant at the same time. It's super hard to explain. I guess all I can say is: They were absolutely gorgeous.</i>
  </b>
</p><p>An arrow pointed to the next page and he saw a portrait of a 16-year-old him, with his hair down under his factory cap. It draped gently over his shoulders and a wide smile was drawn on his face. His eyes were the only thing on the page colored, in watercolor, of course, and the drawing looked almost spot on to what he looked like back then.</p><p>He turned the page again and saw another two drawings of him, both of them dated "8/3/1988" and he was curious as to why this drawing was in the 1980 journal and not the 1988 journal.</p><p>
  <b>
    <i>Note: I didn't have the room in 1988 or 1989 for these drawings. It turns out these pages actually stuck together. I thought about James today and I wanted to draw him for his birthday, but I never actually ended up giving them to him because I liked them so much. I'm so glad I got to use my oil pastels on these ones, it made his eyes look even more beautiful than normal. I love how they turned out. Maybe some day I'll give them to him. But...Not now.</i>
  </b>
</p><p>James smiled widely and flipped to a new page, being greeted by only the second journal entry he's seen in the large book.</p><p>
  <i>Entry 2 (May 12, 1980, 16:57)<br/>
School for me isn't going that well for me. I can barely understand my teachers, and did you know that there are anti-europeans in California? I didn't. Far called them xenophobic. The xenophobic bastards. I'm being endlessly bullied for being foreign, and I hate it. Mor says it will get better, and Far just purely acts like he doesn't care. It's like he can only show caring when its about me getting better at tennis playing. You know what I say about that? Fuck him and fuck tennis. I love my father, but I refuse to do something I'm not all interested in anymore. I'd rather become a drummer more than anything, so that's what I'm gonna do. I'm getting a job soon so I can save up for a new drum set, cus the one my Bedstemor got me when I was 11 is WAY too small for me. I'm so excited for it, especially if I end up starting a band.</i>
</p><p>His excitement made even James excited. He turned the page and saw a new note. A note with a small full-body sketch of James with the matching polaroid next to it. James had never seen that picture of him in his life, nor did he remember the picture being taken, but he hoped the note would have some background behind it.</p><p>
  <b>
    <i>Note: I saw the blond boy again today, with the same gorgeous blue eyes. I see him less and less every month, but I don't care. I was lucky enough to get a picture of him without his uniform or his hair tied back, and good God, he's attractive. Of course, I look like a drowned duckling, so I'd never have a chance with him even if he WAS attracted to me, but it's nice to daydream about, isn't it?</i>
  </b>
</p><p>The drawing of James was extremely detailed, his bright blue eyes standing out against his tanned skin and his brownish blond hair. His shirt, a Venom t-shirt, was colored yellow and black while his jeans were pale, acid washed blue with rips in the knees. He got his outfit spot on.</p><p>The page after it contained the same set-up, but this time with Lars, and a matching polaroid.</p><p>
  <b>
    <i>Note: I'm not attractive. I'm not handsome. I'm not gorgeous. I'm not beautiful, and I'm certainly not whatever else teenagers here use to describe themselves (hip? cool???) I'm a gross-looking 16-year-old boy from Denmark. God only knows that I don't and won't have a chance at love. But that doesn't matter right now. The only thing I care about is getting money for a drum set, learning to be just as good a drummer as Ian Paice, and learning that blond boy's name.</i>
  </b>
</p><p>James turned the page and saw the third entry. He read it intently, knowing his name would be in it according to the date. That was the date he ran into Lars for the first time.</p><p>
  <i>Entry 3 (May 18, 1980, 18:04)<br/>
I ran into the handsome blond boy again. And...Well, I actually ran into him. I was stuck in a small crowd in the middle of town and as I was trying to get out, I rammed myself through the wall of people and couldn't stop running. I accidentally pounded into his chest with my shoulder and he nearly hit me with his skateboard, but he stopped. I didn't know why. Maybe it was because of my nervous crying? Or maybe he thought I was a chick, I have no clue. He asked me what was wrong and I couldn't even speak English, that's how stressed I was. He calmed me down, and I found out what his name is. James. A perfect name for a perfect guy. He still probably believes I'm an idiot, though.</i>
</p><p>James shook his head, and then looked at the other page only to see the fourth entry.</p><p>
  <i>Entry 4 (May 24, 1980, 17:45)<br/>
I saw him again today. This time, he was skating around Costa Mesa. He almost ran me over. Mor says I might be man-crushing on him because she thinks I speak about him too much. I don't care, he's just still so attractive. I may have possibly interviewed him and asked him about himself because I need to get to know more people here, and he told me the answer to every question I asked.</i>
</p><p>The page after the entry had every question and answer. James smiled as he read his answers in the neat, uniform handwriting.</p><p>
  <b>
    <i>Name: James Hetfield<br/>
Occupation: "I work at a boring-ass sticker factory"<br/>
Place of Living: "I live with my half-brother David and my little sister Deanna outside of Oakland."<br/>
Favorite hobbies: "Boarding, going to the beach, and playing the music I love."<br/>
Favorite bands: "Sabbath and Venom. I wanna play with them some day, and I hope I'll be able to."</i>
  </b>
</p><p>James turned the page again and saw the fifth and final entry he was going to read that night. He was intrigued because he could feel the desperation in the written words.</p><p>
  <i>Entry 5 (May 30, 1980, 19:42)<br/>
I wish James went to my school. I just feel so unsafe here. Today I got beat up by some random ass dude cus of…I really don't even know why, actually. I was just at my locker and the next thing I knew my face was being pressed to the lockers next to me with my arm twisted behind my back. They're so brutal to me. Mor had to take me to the hospital to make sure my arm wasn't broken but it turns out my wrist was broken, so now I'm in a cast. I saw James again and I've never seen a near-stranger look so worried. He asked what happened and I was too embarrassed to say that I got beat up, so I just told him that I had an accident while exploring. He bought it. I don't know why I feel so bad about lying, but it won't leave my thoughts. I hope to see him again sometime.</i>
</p><p>James stared at the journal with slight discomfort and sadness, then closed it and set it on his nightstand. He turned his lamp off, turned on his side facing away from the bedside table, and stared into the blackest corner of the room for a long while, hoping it would send him into his deep sleep.</p><p>But it didn't.</p><p>All he could think of was Lars' bruised face and body, his tears, and his broken wrist.</p><p>It haunted him, and he abhorred the thought of not realizing then.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 1981: Adoration</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>James, now onto the second journal in the ten journal series, begins to see just how much love Lars has for him.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>boy howdy this one took some editing, i hope everyone enjoys</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>James woke at 5:35 PM, according to his clock. He looked around to make sure nothing was out of place in his small, disheveled room, mostly checking on the journals he was reading. Each one was tidy in its stack on the floor, and the only untidy one was the one he carelessly threw onto the bedside table underneath his lamp.</p>
<p>The red light from the digital clock shining on the leather cover made the silver lettering shine an ominous scarlet, and it gave James chills despite the fact that all the cover said was "LARS' JOURNAL"</p>
<p>James got up and pulled a pair of jeans and his vest on from the floor, then exited his room and knocked on Lars' door. "Hey, wake up, you drunk. We need to get Kirk and Jason. You motherfuckers need some food in you." He called, waiting for the door to open.</p>
<p>Slowly, it creaked open only to show something that matched that of a swamp monster from an old horror movie Kirk would have watched. Lars' brown hair fell in his face and was completely knotted together in the back. He brushed the hair out of his face and looked up at James, with nothing but grogginess and death in them.</p>
<p>"God damn, man, brush your hair...You look like shit." James repeated that same phrase he says every weekend, and all he got in response from Lars was a hard hit to his shoulder. James knew Lars' hungover morning routine would take long, so he returned to his room and picked up the next edition in the journal series, the 1981 journal.</p>
<p>He opened the book and went directly to the first entry, wanting desperately to read about the first time they really interacted.</p>
<p>
  <i>Entry 1 (January 1, 1981, 18:20)</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>First entry of 1981! I see James occasionally sometimes, but not as much as I wished I did...He won't stop being an attractive motherfucker to me, and Mor still teases me about "man-crushing" on him. I don't like to call it "crushing" and instead I like to call it "Unrequited love" so then I don't sound like a gradeschooler. Wait…man-unrequited love-ing…that doesn't sound right…But, whatever. Our neighbors have complained to Far about my drumming a few times already and now he's yelling at me to stop for a while, but I can't. Drumming is my new passion. Tennis is now down the drain. I've started a new life. I hope I start a band soon. But for now, according to Mor, I have to focus on school and only school. They still bully me, but maybe this semester it's gonna be different.</i>
</p>
<p>James frowned at the last sentence. He knew it wasn't different. It was almost ten times worse that semester. He turned the page and saw another drawing of himself, dated January 2, 1981. While the art was good, he still couldn't help but draw back in a cringe at how bad he looked back then. It was a completely new style from what Lars was used to doing, a cartoonish style where the body was lanky and the face was bordering between cartoon and realism.</p>
<p>He was wearing his homemade Saxon shirt and a leather jacket over it, with ripped skinny jeans and his white Brooks Transitions. Oh, how he loved his white Transitions. His skateboard deck had a huge skull painted onto it with an anarchy symbol carved into the forehead. </p>
<p>James remembered painting it, and the trucks, a neon green in the basement of his brother's home in the dead of the night as he annoyed the other occupants of the house with his blaring music. It was obvious that the board was hand-painted, but he thought that it made it look punky, just how he wanted. The skull was ripped straight from a Misfits poster he got and cut out. The only thing keeping it on the board was a thick layer of varnish.</p>
<p>He looked up at the note beside it and laughed as he read it, feeling his cheeks flush bright red.</p>
<p>
<b>
<i>Note: Mor says I should just go after him already and "ask to be his friend" and stop encountering him like this. Unfortunately for her, though, she doesn't know that this handsome boy is shy and doesn't like talking much. But...That's okay. He'll have a full conversation with me when he's ready, and that's okay. He wants space right now, and that's okay. I just have to give it time.</i>
</b>
</p>
<p>Opposite to that page, he saw a few notes of inspection</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <i>Notes: Blue eyes, very small and rare smile, very shy, sandy blond hair, holds himself like an adult would, doesn't speak unless prompted or panicked. I really like this dude. Maybe I'll be able to get to know him more later on...I hope. He looks pretty interesting.</i>
  </b>
</p>
<p>Under that note was a few Polaroids, all of James skateboarding and doing tricks in the middle of a San Francisco park. They were taken by Lars, who was sitting under a tree. James could see Lars' legs burdened by textbooks and papers at the bottom of the Polaroids, and he couldn't help but laugh slightly.</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <i>Note: He fell during a trick and decided to take a few minutes to relax. But the thing is, he decided to relax right next to me. Right. Next. To. Me. I've never felt more awkward in my life. I almost cried...But seeing him stopped it.</i>
  </b>
</p>
<p>A drawn heart was right at the end of the note and a smile was drawn widely onto James's face. He couldn't help but continue reading until Lars pounded on his door. "Come on, James, let's go...I just want to go back to bed," he groaned out.</p>
<p>James frowned. He closed the book and slipped it into his vest's inside pocket then opened the door and looked down at Lars, who was standing in front of his door with his arms crossed in discontent. "Are you done jacking off?" Lars asked with a sharp tone.</p>
<p>James attempted to stifle a grin but failed and was hit in the arm by his friend. "God, you're so gross," Lars laughed quietly, then walked ahead of James to get Kirk and Jason from their rooms.</p>
<p>When the key finally turned for their suite, James was told to get Kirk while Lars grabbed Jason. Before entering, he knocked on the door gently, then twisted the door's handle and pushed it open with his shoulder. An ungodly waft of some sort of smell hit him right as he did and he had to convince himself not to gag.</p>
<p>The smell only got worse as he got closer to Kirk's bed. His eyes hadn't adjusted to the pitch dark and he kept stumbling over piles of dirty clothes on the floor. Maybe that's where the smell was coming from, he thought.</p>
<p>When his eyes finally adjusted, he saw that Kirk was on his side, a lit cigar in his hand, and he was completely asleep. After a few seconds, his hand twitched and ashed the cigar on the bed. James pinched the bridge of his nose and massaged it for a few seconds until he reached down and started to gently shake Kirk.</p>
<p>When that didn't wake him, James shook him harder, and harder, and harder, until finally Kirk threw the cigar at him in his sleep and the cigar hit his arm. James yelped, which finally woke him up, and immediately made him start panicking. "Oh my god, James, I'm so sorry--" he started.</p>
<p>He was interrupted by James yelling a sharp, drawn out "fuck" at the top of his lungs. Lars and Jason rushed in and saw James with his back towards the door, cursing like a sailor as he clutched his arm tight. </p>
<p>Kirk shot up out of bed and rushed to James. He turned the lamp on and forced James's hand from where he was keeping it to see the burn. Lars peeked to look around James and saw Kirk's disgruntled face, then saw James smile brightly and mischievously.</p>
<p>He patted Kirk on the back a few times as he was walking towards the door. "Don't go comatose next time and I won't overreact," James said. A shoe and a comic book was launched at the back of his head and he skittered away before they could make contact, pushing past Lars and Jason into the hallway.</p>
<p>When everyone had made it into the elevator, after a long bout of silence, Kirk finally spoke up. "So do we know where we're going?" He asked. The silence consumed the four men until the elevator kicked on and began to descend.</p>
<p>Lars's back made a loud noise when it plopped against the wooden interior of the elevator. Jason stared down and drummed his fingers on his arm. Kirk then came to keep eye contact with James for an uncomfortable length of time. "Uh…" James said softly, "I…didn't actually think everyone would get up. It's your call, I guess."</p>
<p>When they got to their rental car and everyone was situated, James looked over at Kirk and cocked his eyebrow. "So--" Kirk cut in, saying "Denny's" in a matter-of-fact tone. "I…alright." James mumbled, then pulled out of his parking spot and drove out of the hotel's parking spot.</p>
<p>When they got to the nearest Denny's James could find after driving around for an hour, he waited for Jason and Lars to walk ahead before pulling Kirk over by his sleeve and leaning in to whisper to him. "Guess what I did?" He said with a small grin growing on his face.</p>
<p>Kirk looked at him with an uneasy grimace and took a deep breath in to prepare himself. "If it's on the same level as what you did to Jason last week, I don't wanna know," he muttered, pushing James away.</p>
<p>"What? Oh, ew, no, I just found some of Lars's old journals," James said when he let go of Kirk's sleeve, taking the journal and flashing it to Kirk from his vest pocket, "I was just wondering if you wanted to read a few entries with me when we got back."</p>
<p>There was a quietness between them for a small moment as Kirk stared at the leather cover until he spoke. "Yeah, sure. Alright," he nodded, then his eyebrows knit together and his eyes followed James's face. "Wait, you're gonna tell him you found them, right?"</p>
<p>James shrugged and dropped the journal back into his pocket. "Not yet...maybe if I find something weird or some shit like that," he mumbled, "I doubt I will, though. Right now its all about how he was crushing on me in '81."</p>
<p>Kirk coughed out a laugh and regained composure with a stupid grin on his face. "God, I remember when he'd gush to me about you," he reminisced. James's cheeks turned a rosy pink and he smiled slightly at the thought.</p>
<p>It felt like the trip to Denny's passed as quick as it took to get there in the first place. All James remembered doing there was downing a few glasses of Sprite and seeing the remnants of a burger he didn't remember ordering. Before he knew it they were back in the elevator and Kirk was nearly bouncing in anticipation.</p>
<p>When they got closer to the suites, James snuck the other suite key to Kirk before they parted and he gave a small smile in departure.</p>
<p>Lars, as soon as they walked into their own suite, immediately went to his room and returned a few minutes later in a panic. He tugged James by the arm roughly and grabbed his cheeks. "James, something's missing from my room and I really need it, do you know where it might be?"</p>
<p>James turned sheet white and a pit in his stomach opened. "Uh...what's missing?" He asked. "My lucky drum sticks, they disappeared," Lars clarified, "do you know where they are?"</p>
<p>The pit in his stomach disappeared and a sense of relief washed over him. "Check your jeans pockets, that's where they were last time."</p>
<p>Lars raced back, left James in total silence for a few seconds, then broke it with a long groan. "Thanks, Jamie," he called from his room.</p>
<p>Finally he was able to retreat to his room and return to his reading. He took the journal out of his inner pocket, let the vest fall to the floor, and jumped back onto his bed to read further once he turned to the page he left off on.</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <i>Note: JAMES FINALLY AGREED TO GO OUT FOR FOOD WITH ME!!! He was blushing when he answered, so I think he was really anticipating it...Either that, or he was just embarrassed. Either way!</i>
  </b>
</p>
<p>The next page had a few Polaroids from the night they met up. They were at the diner in Costa Mesa at 11:00 at night, and the pair had both snuck out just to meet.</p>
<p>James remembered that. He had to sneak his brother David's keys from his bedside table to take his pick-up down to Costa Mesa. When he got home, David ripped him a new one for taking it, but he didn't care because he had fun.</p>
<p>In the Polaroids, he was wearing a t-shirt with his school name and jersey number on it and sweatpants with his hair unbrushed since he snuck out in a hurry. Lars was wearing a sweatshirt and black shorts, which were soon designated as his practice shorts, and a peculiar array of supplies with him. Cassettes, a sharpie, and his drum sticks.</p>
<p>The photos of James included an assortment of 5 pictures. Each one was labeled how many minutes it was into the meetup.</p>
<p>The first one showed James sitting opposite from the camera with an awkward grin on his face, looking strangely unfamiliar in the picture. It was time stamped as "Time: 11:05"</p>
<p>The second was him with his head in his arms on the table, eyes closed and mouth opened slightly. The timestamp had a note by it. "15 minutes in -- he actually fell asleep!"</p>
<p>The third showed him gazing longingly out the window, watching closely at the cars that drove by the diner. "25 minutes in -- he just woke up and now he's just watching the world go by." the timestamp wrote.</p>
<p>The fourth was him devouring his food. His eyes looked up at the camera as he bit on his fork, looking as if he were caught in the act of a crime. "Food came, 35 minutes in. I don't think he's eaten in a while." the timestamp said.</p>
<p>And the fifth was of the two of them in the car. James remembered that they were at a stoplight, and Lars pulled his camera out to take one last picture of them together before he was dropped off. "The 'Date' went well! On my way home. Time: 1:40 A.M."</p>
<p>The other page was only three pictures that James had taken of Lars and they all looked shaky, but the type of shaky that Lars would find visually appealing, an 'artistic' kind of appealing. The first was Lars looking down at one of his cassettes, doodling on its case after writing its title the tape. He still had that cassette. Lars never ended up giving it to him until years afterwards. </p>
<p>The second, he was reaching out for his camera. Through the blur that colored his face, he could see Lars smiling.</p>
<p>The third and final one was Lars asleep in the passenger seat of David's pick-up as they were driving home. James remembered walking with Lars to his bedroom window and telling him that he knew where to find him if he needed him. He was lost in his memories of that night until he turned the page and brought himself out of his daze.</p>
<p>The next page was a piece of lined paper with writing on it taped into the journal, with a title above it: "Note Passing with Madeline"</p>
<p>
  <i>"You know of that guy James off of the Downy football team, right?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Yeah. What about him?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"He and I both snuck out and hung out last night."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Hold on, hung out as in got food or hung out as in went to Fairview Park?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Both."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Oh my God. Are you sure? What happened."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"All I'm gonna say is I fell asleep under a tree with him and woke up in his passenger seat. I'll tell you the rest next period."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Gotcha"</i>
</p>
<p>He chuckled at the note softly, then turned to see the second entry in the section he flipped to.</p>
<p>
  <i>Entry 96 (October 3, 1981, 23:41)</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>James's team was playing at the homecoming game. The whole time, Madeline and I kept our eyes on number 17 to see what would happen. It was almost weirdly enchanting watching him take his helmet off after the game. Someone from my school's team ran up and punched him because I think he was a sore loser, but the only damage James got was a bloody nose. Good god, even then he was handsome. Madeline thought it was gross, though...Not sure why. He tried approaching us after the game, but his coach didn't let him leave because they wanted to settle the punch.</i>
</p>
<p>
  James chuckled. He remembered how much that punch hurt at the time. He flipped the page to something more dark in comparison. Polaroids of Lars he took himself. Lars was sat on James's desk in the center of most of them, bruises and cuts all over his body. Tears were beginning to stream down his face over a bruised cheek. There was a note under it.
</p>
<p>
  Note: Thank god James got me out of there. There's this group of people lead by the guy who broke my wrist and they saw me when I was walking in the park a few hours ago. They jumped me, and after they left, I called James and he brought me back to his house to check me out. I'm so thankful for him.
</p>
<p>
  Right after the note he had just read, he saw more photos at the tiny diner in downtown Downy. This time, most of them were only of Lars.
</p>
<p>
    <b>
      <i>Note: James has a really weird obsession with my camera. I wonder why he likes it so much.</i>
    </b>
</p>
<p>
  They were six polaroids in two even rows of three, and they were, again, almost all of Lars.
</p>
<p>
  The first was the small teenager with his chin rested on his crossed arms, looking zoned out and exhausted. James recognized the writing at the bottom of the panel as his own, saying, "Time: 2:26 A.M. I feel bad."
</p>
<p>
  The second, Lars stared straight at the camera with somber green eyes. James looked deeply into the picture and saw a small, barely noticeable grin on Lars, and it made a small smile grow on his face. 
</p>
<p>
  The next three were blurry, but he could still see Lars's giggling face in the fuzzy screen that covered the picture.
</p>
<p>
  Finally, the last one was a blushing James, smiling and looking away from the camera. James looked at the note under it and smiled.
</p>
<p>
    <b>
      <i>Note: I love him so much. I think of him every day. I just hope he'll love me back some day. Maybe it'll be next week, or maybe when we're 30. I'm not sure.</i>
    </b>
</p>
<p>
  Kirk opened the door to James's room slowly and peeked in only to see James slap the journal closed. "What the fuck was that?" Kirk asked, spooked by the sudden sound. James motioned for him to come closer.
</p>
<p>
  "Are you reading the journals?" Kirk asked with a small smirk, voice dry and quiet. James nodded and leaned back, pointing down at the stack of the rest of the books.&lt;
</p>
<p>
  "Yeah, I've got all of them down here. Come here, I'll give you the journal from '80." James offered, holding the 1980 journal out to his friend.
</p>
<p>
  Kirk chuckled devilishly, locked the door, and sat beside James on the bed as he took the journal. "This is really bad, I hope you know." He mentioned when he saw the first entry in the 1980 journal.
</p>
<p>
  James nodded. "I know....but I'm interested." He took the 1980 journal from Kirk and tossed it on the nightstand, then began sharing the 1981 journal with him instead.
</p>
<p>
  "There are tons of sketches in here of me, and all the entries at this point are only about me. Kind of weird, when you think about the fact that Lars tries to act like he doesn't like me as much as everyone else thinks." James mumbled as he flipped back to show Kirk the drawings.
</p>
<p>
  They flipped all the way through from the beginning back to where James left off, telling stories about some of the photos now and then when he was asked. Finally, he returned to where he was.
</p>
<p>
 <i>Entry 103 (October 28, 1981, 22:56)</i>
</p>
<p>
 <i>It's official! James and I have just started our band. We have absolutely no clue what to name it, though....Whatever. Ron Quintana usually has some good names, so I'll ask him about it. I have a feeling we'll have a fun time in this band, though. James and I found a guy named Dave Mustaine in the papers after we posted an ad there for a guitarist, and James has been friends with Ron McGovney since they were middle schoolers. It's an easy and simple lineup, I mean, but I know we're gonna do great things. I can just feel it.</i>
</p>
<p>
    "Uh...Who's Ron Quintana?" Kirk asked, confused. James squinted as he tried remembering the name and tried matching said name to a face. When he remembered, he gasped out a small "Oh!"
</p>
<p>
    "He was one of Lars's high school friends. I tried getting in touch with him during my senior year, but he didn't like me that much so I gave up after a while." James said with a small chortle before turning the page and seeing a picture of the band's line-up. He nearly threw the journal in fear after seeing himself.
</p>
<p>
    Ron was wearing a small leather vest and tight black skinny jeans, Dave was wearing a leather jacket without a shirt under it, Lars wore a snug-fitting Motorhead shirt and his favorite jeans, and finally James.
</p>
<p>
    Oh boy, James.
</p>
<p>
    He was wearing a striped crop-top, leather pants, and biker gloves. He could feel himself about to hurl. His own embarrassment for himself was drowning out Kirk's laughing. "What the hell are you wearing?!" He asked in his near-hysterics.
</p>
<p>
 James calmly closed the journal, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "I...I think I'm done reading for now," he said, flustered. Kirk covered his mouth to prevent his wheezing and took the first journal he was originally handed with him as he left.
</p>
<p>
 "Have fun with that, buddy. Tell me when you're ready to have me back in here," Kirk said with an unstable voice before he began to snicker again and closed the door behind him.
</p>
<p>
 James waited until he heard the suite's main door close, then locked the door again and opened the journal back to where the photo was.
</p>
<p>
 <b>
     <i>Note: Look how dumb James looks! And Ron, oh my God! Whatever, though. James is still a cutie. He looks so smug, and it super adorable."</i>
</b>
</p>
<p>
 James, though holding it desperately back, couldn't help but smile slowly and begin laughing a bit when he reread the note. Lars thought he was adorable. Even in the biker mess he was wearing, he still thought he was adorable.
</p>
<p>
 James turned a few pages and began to read another entry that caught his eye.
</p>
<p>
  <i>Entry 113 (November 13, 1981, 23:35)</i>
</p>
<p>
 <i>That didn't go as planned. I brought James over to my house for the first time while my parents were here. I didn't know how shy he was until then. When he walked in, he could already tell they were home without even seeing them. Mor came out and called for me and he jumped and tried hiding himself in his body. He literally brought his entire body inwards, like his shoulders and such. Then he bowed his head down so his hair would hide his face. Mor actually, honestly thought something was wrong in the head with him because he didn't look her in the eye. I felt so bad that I had him stay over for the night. He began crying when he got into my room and I didn't know what to do but hug him awkwardly and pet his hair. Also, he has really, really soft hair. I like it.</i>
</p>
<p>
  James stared at it for a long moment, zoning out on the words that the graphite created. Lars's mom kept asking him question after question the first time they met each other and he couldn't give a straight answer, when he'd answer at all. She began to question him about who his parents were and what they did, even though Lars kept telling her to stop. That first meeting would never be wiped from his memory, no matter how close he became with her afterwards.
</p>
<p>
  Returning back to reality, he closed the book and stood up to walk into the rest of the suite to get to Lars. He was in luck, as he saw that his target was walking down the hall just as he was about to himself.
</p>
<p>
  Without thinking, he opened the door completely, stepped out, intercepted Lars, and hugged him in the tightest hug he's ever given someone in his life.
</p>
<p>
"What the Hell?" Lars said in a slight panic before he realized who was hugging him. When he did, he slowly brought his arms up around his neck and hugged him back in an awkward, gawky way.
</p>
<p>
  James could feel his hair being played with and twirled in Lars's hands, something he hadn't felt in near ages.
</p>
<p>
  His heart swelled and he hugged tighter. He loved the feeling. He really did.
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so, just to clarify, this fic is also under the same name as it is on rockfic, published under the account KrikkyKrikky. im just on here to spread my works to more audiences :)</p>
<p>also the one on rockfic was written when i was at least 13 and cringy as fuck so this version on AO3 is probably 100× better writing quality so im also using this account to rewrite my favorite fics from rockfic in a more updated style</p>
<p>also also the first 4 parts are gonna come quick cus i actually have them written and ion wanna keep anyone hanging for like 3 billion years</p></blockquote></div></div>
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